


A Phoenix with a Broken Wing Still Burns Bright

by Red Charade (traciller)



Series: Coldwave Week 2016 [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Coldwave Week 2016, Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, M/M, emotions happen, married!Coldwave, non-con drugging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 16:26:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6247198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traciller/pseuds/Red%20Charade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Mick. Mick! I thought they…” the voice, that familiar voice starting across the room but now so close.</p><p>Len. That voice belonged to Len. He’d know it anywhere. But, his brain worked just well enough to know that he shouldn’t be hearing Len’s voice. Len was gone. Just…gone.</p><p>(not a fix-it for Marooned)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Phoenix with a Broken Wing Still Burns Bright

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for Coldwave Week 2016 on Tumblr. The prompt was In Captivity.

Mick was vaguely aware of it when he heard clanging. Banging? Both? The door. Someone opened the door. Voices? Two sets. One is kind of familiar.

He was pretty sure he should care about that, but…he didn’t. Everything felt numb, even his brain. Like that hazy, comfortable feeling you have between wakefulness and sleep when you realize that you’ve woken up prematurely but you could probably fall back to sleep pretty easily and if you had the energy that feeling might almost be orgasmic.

That’s how he felt right now. He couldn’t be bothered to care about clanging and doors opening and the sound of a body hitting the floor, an ‘oof’ that you get when you wind someone.

“Mick. Mick! I thought they…” the voice, that familiar voice starting across the room but now so close.

Len. That voice belonged to Len. He’d know it anywhere. But, his brain worked just well enough to know that he shouldn’t be hearing Len’s voice. Len was gone. Just…gone.

“Mick…?” he wasn’t so used to hearing Len’s voice with that tone, to hear him unsure. Afraid? Dreading.

See. It wasn’t Len. Just someone with a similar voice who knew his name.

The feeling of fingers on his neck, the sound of a sigh he could feel against his cheek and then someone’s head against his shoulder.

“God, Mick, for a second there, I thought–” the voice didn’t trail off, it stopped as if cut off.

With great effort Mick opened his eyes, but even when he moved his head just slightly he couldn’t get an angle to properly look at whoever it was who had a voice so similar to his Len’s.

“Thought what?” his voice was soft, weak, raspy, slurred. He could hear it but there was nothing he could do about it. He hadn’t meant to speak anyway, or even to move really.

But that voice…it was so like Len’s…he never could ignore Len on the rare occasions he was distraught and chose to show it.

“I thought they put me in a room with a dead body just to…” that time the voice did trail off. Could have finished, chose not to. Maybe for their own sanity.

“Ain’t dead. Drugged,” Mick knew that much. They’d been keeping him drugged since he got here. He was too unruly and violent and unpredictable for them to take chances on, apparently.

Didn’t mean the effects didn’t feel good. It had been nice not to give a shit about anything, especially after he saw what they’d done to Len…

The sound of a deep breath and huge sigh, a rush of warm air against his neck. A slight wetness. Not a tongue. Tears.

Mick tried to lift his hand but all he could get it to do was flop. He apparently wasn’t coordinated enough while this drugged to actually try to pat this guy who sounded so much like his Len that couldn’t help wanting to comfort him, on the shoulder.

“Well, wake up. We need to get out of here and I need you to help me with a plan,” there was a bit of confidence back.

It actually just made Mick feel upset. At least, as much as he could while this drugged. Instead of anger, though, the drugs turned it to despair. Len was gone, this wasn’t Len. Len never needed help making a plan, coming up with strategies. He needed help executing them sometimes, but never making them. Too smart for that.

“Are you crying…?” the voice again, fingertips at the corner of his eye.

“Are you?” Mick figured that would shut the guy up, whoever he was.

“Little bit,” another admission Len would usually not give.

“Who are you, anyway? They send you here to torture me?” Mick wasn’t sure what this game was supposed to be, but it was too much of a coincidence. Even his drugged mind understood that. Why would they kill Len and then put a sound-alike in a cell with him if not to mess with his head?

“What??” the voice was horrified, louder than it had been, the pressure on his shoulder went away abruptly. Guy sat up, apparently.

“Ain’t enough drugs in the universe make me forget you guys killed him. Better not ever stop givin’ me this shit, either. I’ll kill you all. I’ll kill you.” Mick growled, aware that his voice was still slurred and weak despite that. The growl of a puppy instead of a wolf.

“Mick, I’m not dead. I know what that looked like but…that wasn’t a bullet, it was just a tranq of some kind for transport,” the voice was sure, but gentle even as it was annoyed. Sounded a bit more right.

“Whatever,” he didn’t believe it. Mick Rory knew better in life than to get his hopes up for miracles.

“Mick, just open your damn eyes and look at me, then,” the tone was desperate and angry, exasperated too.

It was the exasperation that did it. That tone was just right. Just perfect. Len being exasperated with Mick was pretty common.

So he opened his eyes and turned his head a little, looking up and seeing his Len looking down at him, so many emotions on the man’s face at once.

“Len…” there was no way they could get a double just right, not even if they studied Leonard Snart religiously for mannerisms and used his dead body as a reference for looks. This was his Len here. This was his husband.

“Yes, it’s me. See? It’s me. I swear, it’s me,” Len stood back, taking off his black jacket, taking off his shirt to show the tattoo over his heart, the phoenix with the broken wing who clearly wasn’t hindered by that wing.

When Len and Mick had gotten married, they hadn’t opted for rings. They had kept the marriage as quiet as possible, though it was legal. Instead of rings they’d gotten tattoos to symbolize each other. Mick had an arctic fox that looked like it was made out of wind and ice, with blue eyes and a sharp-toothed grin that was both friendly and predatory, on his back. It was also over his heart, but most people wouldn’t put that together since it isn’t the way most people view the heart.

But, falling in love with Len had sort of snuck up on him. It made sense to them and that’s what mattered.

Still, despite the obvious themes of the tattoos, Mick didn’t think someone would realize just how significant those tattoos were. Lisa knew and that was about it. Even people who realized they were married didn’t realize those tattoos were their version of rings. So, for this person to immediately show him the tattoo in order to prove who he was, Mick knew this was no trick.

“Len…I thought…” Mick wasn’t one to get all emotional, and neither was Len, but this was…definitely a moment that warranted exception.

“I know. I know what you thought, but it wasn’t what it looked like. I’m fine,” Len said, put his shirt and jacket back on, got back down on his knees by the bunk Mick had been dumped on. Wiped away the new tear that had started its way down Mick’s cheek with his thumb, so gentle.

Mick managed to raise a hand to the back of Len’s head this time, rest it there as he accepted the press of lips against his, slotting together perfectly from years of familiarity. He opened for the soft tongue and met it with his own.

He couldn’t help the uncoordinated nature of his movements, even now, but Len didn’t seem to care so neither did Mick. A kiss from his husband was always welcome, especially when it proved he wasn’t dead like Mick had thought he was.

“Why aren’t you drugged, too?” Mick asked, once Len had pulled away again.

“Probably because I’m not the one who looks like they could pick up a tractor trailer with one hand. An oversight they’ll come to regret, because we’re getting out of here,” Len said, sounding much more like himself now.

“Oh yeah? How we gonna do that with me like this?” he could still hear the slur in his own voice.

“Well, first you’re gonna keep fighting those meds off until you can walk without falling on your face because I’m not carrying you, and then…one of us is going to go into medical distress,” Len smirked.

“Sounds too simple,” Mick replied, because it was true. Len usually had much more elaborate detail than this.

“While you fight that stuff off, we’re gonna come up with the rest of it,” Len said, and Mick could tell his quick mind was already working overtime.

“You ain’t need my help for that,” it was no secret that Mick wasn’t the brains out of the two of them.

Len frowned, leveling Mick with an angry stare. Fuck, here we go. Mick hadn’t meant he was completely stupid, just that he wasn’t a fucking genius. Jesus.

“You aren’t stupid and I’m getting sick of this regression of yours into insisting that you are. That’s a character you play up to others, not to me. Stop buying your own snake oil,” Len said, tone stern and brooking no argument.

“I just meant I ain’t no genius, not that I’m stupid,” Mick huffed, because since when did the no argument voice ever work on him if it wasn’t part of a ruse or con? Never, that’s when.

“I don’t want to hear any qualifying nonsense. Anyway, we haven’t got time to argue. I want to have a plan figured out and ready to implement before they come to give you another dose of this poison. So, let’s start there. Any idea when your next dose is gonna be?” Len still sounded miffed, looked it too.

Mick didn’t mind, Len was hot when he was mad. His eyes took on a certain kind of smolder.

“I only got one so far that I know of. A huge one, though. Think I heard ‘em say something about another one the same size at dinner. Didn’t care to really pay attention to details, had other things on my mind,” Mick answered, glad to hear that his slur wasn’t quite so bad now.

“Good. It’s a start,” Len’s smirk was dictionary-perfect for devious.

**Author's Note:**

> My first Coldwave fic. My goal is try to write a fic for each prompt for the whole week, so hopefully you'll get a new Coldwave from me once a day. But, no absolute promises. o.O


End file.
